Inside of traincar down freezing huddled

I am forty forty
Times over, why not—
The fruit fly haunted me
In his senile week—
I found him dead in a circle
Grandfather to a legion—
I count what Wonderbread I have
Not yet relinquished to flies—
They are the sneezing devil
I think noting their frustrations—
I will leave out Sangria
For those holidayless wanderers
Ambered in hollow Plains Indian time.

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~ by Jeremy on April 1, 2011.

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